Entwined With You
by It's-A-Passion
Summary: Mara Reynolds didn't believe in fairytales. She was taught to be tougher than that. What began as revenge for her mother's death became more when she uncovered a twisted plot of destruction and enslavement. And Mara was drawn into it, and to a man who could possibly be her fabled 'Happily Ever After', if she would just let it happen. LoganOC.
1. Prologue

Entwined With You

Prologue

Once upon a time, I believed in fairytales.

When I was just a little girl, my mother would read to me every night before I fell asleep. Magnificent tales of love and treachery, of dashing princes and beautiful princesses. Of good and evil. And love would always triumph. Always.

In my mind, there was no other way to end a story. Love had to win. Love had to conquer all. Love had to defy its oppressors, or it was not a story worth my time.

_One day, _I would think to myself,_ one day, my knight in shining armor will come galloping into my life and sweep me off my feet, and we will fall madly in love._

Just like all the stories my mother would tell me.

All I had to do was wait. I could do that. And while I waited, my mother would tell me more stories. I would curl up next to her, and she would open the storybook with a sort of reverence that made me sit still for once. And when she spoke, she painted pictures in my mind, so vivid, so real, so captivating. Like my own personal movie. It never occurred to me that perhaps, the pictures in my mind were a little _too_ artistic, too _movie-like_ and imaginative for any four year-old to conjure up.

She would close the book with the same reverence as before, looking down at my sleepy form as she gently brushed my hair back from my face, whispering, "My sweet daughter. Angels are watching over you."

I believed angels really were. I was safe. Warm. Loved. In my own special cocooned world where nothing bad or horrible could ever happen, where I was sheltered from the cruelties and injustices and pain.

Reality came bursting onto the pages of my life with harsh brutality on my sixth birthday when I saw my mother killed by a yellow-haired man-boy and a coco-skinned woman with dreadlocks. When I was taken to my aunt's house, my only living relative left, they followed. They burned down the house, and my aunt didn't make it out.

I realized then, that fairytales weren't real. I wouldn't marry a handsome prince. I was not safe. The world was not good and just, a place where love would _always_ win. No one would scale a tower to rescue me.

If I wanted to get out, it was up to me to do it.

I was living a delusion, a dream, and I was just then waking up. It was like a slap in the face. Like a bucket of ice cold water was thrown over me.

I ran away, before I could be taken to a foster family. And they followed still. They needed to kill me too, because I'd seen them. I could identify them. And when they did catch up to me, cornering me in an alley, I was sure that was it.

I waited for the death blow. But it never came. Instead, a man saved me. A man with cold, hard eyes and a detached air about him. Quinn. He offered to change my life. To teach me to fight. To teach me to kill. I accepted.

And I knew what I had to do.

If I was going to survive, I had to make myself strong. I couldn't trust anyone else to look after me, I couldn't rely on them. Nobody could protect me. Not even my mother had been able to do that.

I had to protect myself.

Once upon a time, I believed in fairytales.

But once upon a time, I also had a mother.

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	2. Chapter One

…

Entwined With You

Chapter One

_Angels are watching over you. _

I heard her soft voice inside my head as I walked into the bar, the heels of my fantastic boots clacking against the hardwood floors. They cost me more than all my other shoes put together, but they were worth every dollar. I liked the way they made my legs look curvy as hell. It was a bonus that the design allowed me to fit a thin bladed knife down the side of each one.

I always heard her voice when I was about to do something stupid. It was my subconscious' way of warning me. Most of the time, I just ignored it.

It took a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust to the din of the room from the brightness outside. It was almost empty, though that was unsurprising. It was almost noon on a weekday. My eyes scanned the room quickly, searching for the man I'd followed in. My heart raced in anxious, nervous energy.

I could scarcely believe it.

A man in a suit sat in a corner booth, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled. Beside him was a cardboard box filled with knickknacks, some stationary and an empty photo frame. Another man down the far end of the bar was slumped over the countertop, his face turned away. A dirty jacket was stretched over his broad shoulders as he slept, despite the heat. A homeless man, perhaps.

At the other end of the bar, was the man who I followed. He was a giant of a man; bulky, with spiked up yellow-blonde hair. I needed to get a look at his face.

I sat on a stool, crossing my legs, placing my bag down on the floor between my seat and the bar. The old, greying and wrinkled bartender shambled over from where he'd been out back, giving me the stink eye. "I'll have a Jack Daniels and coke."

"ID?" He grunted.

I rolled my eyes, and reached down to my bag for my wallet, pulling it out and showing him. I was older than twenty one, and I knew he knew it. He just wanted to be an asshole.

A layer of grime covered the countertop, so thick it provided enough friction to slow my drink down before it went flying off the edge when the bartender slid it towards me. The glass looked almost as dirty. I took a sip anyway.

The bartender then went to the man, nodding his old head in something akin to respect. It was a complete contrast to how he'd greeted me. The man spoke, "Ian, my man. How're things today?"

"Ed. Can't complain," Ian replied, in a voice that sounded like he would very much like to complain, while his eyes flicked to me and back. Obviously, he didn't like me in his bar, and I didn't know why. I hadn't done anything. Yet. If he wasn't careful, I _would_ give him something to complain about. Like blasting his stupid little bar into a million bits.

Ed looked over at me after noticing the bartender's dark look, giving me an uninhibited view of his face. Recognition hit me so hard, I nearly fell off the stool. Before, it had just been suspicion; it _could_ be him – it might not, the likelihood was against me, but it _could_ be him. Now that I saw his face, suspicion left, replaced with certainty, and I felt cold. My heart stopped in my chest.

And just like that, I was six years old again, small and terrified. Useless. Too weak to help. Unable to stop them, the _bad people_ who were hurting my mother. Unable to do anything as she died. _Right in front of me_. An all-consuming fear shot up my stomach, threatening to leave my mouth in a scream. I felt the phantom pressure on my arm as someone bigger and stronger than me grabbed ahold, dragging me with them, and the painful yank it took to slip free. I saw the flames licking over the walls, and I felt the heat of it, threatening to burn me alive.

I was right back there. At the place I never wanted to go to again.

I pulled myself out of it, out of my memories. My heart raced fast, pounding so hard in my chest I thought it'd leap right out, my face hot, my hands sweaty. And with my rushing blood went the anger, spreading along my body with each pump of my heart.

_Calm down_, I told myself.

It was difficult though, when rage was boiling in my veins. I took a gulp of my drink to stop myself flying off my seat and punching him in the face. Or worse. My hands shook slightly, and I placed them in my lap so no one would notice.

"I bet you could find something," the man laughed, throwing me a wink like it was our own, personal joke. Ed. His name was Ed. The sound hurt to listen to, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Revulsion filled my chest. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to do worse than that.

I'd only caught a glimpse of him by chance. The first time in seventeen years, and it was on accident. If I had been one minute too soon or too late, I wouldn't have seen him. I'd turned the corner right as he went inside the bar. When I caught the flash of his blonde hair, I forgot whatever it was that I had been going to do, and I followed him into the bar.

I wasn't prepared for this moment, and a million possibilities ran through my mind, all payback. Payback for hitting my mother across the face. For taking her life. For _changing_ mine. For taking away my childhood.

He twisted his body towards me, bracing his arm on the counter to lean forward over the three seats that were between us. I looked at his arm. If I wasn't sure before, I was now. There was a scar, right where Quinn, the man with the swords, had sliced him. I thought about reaching down into my boots for one of my knives, before impaling it through his hand.

But I wasn't the same little girl as before. I had more control. I had more power. I could protect myself. Quinn had taught me those things. If I were to act rashly now, I would lose the power I had from the moment he winked at. He didn't know who I was, he didn't remember. I could play that to my advantage, the situation mine to control. It could play anyway I wanted it to.

And I had waited long enough for this moment, and I wasn't going to blow it in a fit of anger and impulsiveness. I took a deep breath in. Then exhaled. Inhale. Exhale.

_Not yet. Not yet. Not yet._

"What's your name?" He grinned, and I smiled back, like I was pleased at his attention, when all I wanted to do was smash my hand into his smirking face as hard as I could.

I gave him a fake one. "Jacqueline."

"Well, _Jacqueline_, can I buy you another drink?" He gestured at my glass.

I couldn't believe he didn't recognize me. I looked almost the same; thick, crazy-curly ebony hair, light, light blue eyes, the shade of lapis lazuli, a heart shaped face. And I recognized him, from the shade of his hair. Admittedly, it was an unusual blonde; it was very _yellow_. His voice had deepened as he got older, and he lost the roundness to his face that made him younger-looking. He'd also bulked out, no longer thin. But the odd thing was, he'd also grown at least a foot. I didn't think people grew that much after they'd already crossed into adulthood.

"_All the girls and the boys, and people makin' noises, let me hear ya shout, bring 'em out, bring 'em out! Pump up ya fists if ya twist like this, 'til the lights go out!" _I was saved from having to answer his question when my phone rang.

I flipped it open, relief bubbling in my chest. I didn't know if I'd be able to let him flirt with me. "Hello?"

Storm's voice came from the other end, smooth and regal, "Did you find him?"

My eyes flicked to Ed, then away. But Ed wasn't who Storm was thinking of.

Storm, or Ororo Monroe, was the headmaster of Charles' Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters ever since Charles died. The school was a safe place for mutant kids to learn. Kids with special abilities. Powers. Mutations. I'd started there when I was sixteen. I left when I finished school because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, but had somehow ended up back there two years ago. I opted to stay there and become an X-Woman, a member of their X-Team.

The school year had started up, and I taught English classes. The English teacher when I'd been there was Jean Grey, but she had died around the time Charles did, in the battle with Magneto's followers, so a teacher for that was needed and I stepped in. Then Storm gave me a mission. My first solo mission as an X-Woman. Resources were stretched thin with the start of a new school year. The first few weeks were always the most hectic.

A new student at the school had the ability to see the future, and she kept seeing a mutant in the Chicago area die. And she couldn't say for certain, but his death was important. My mission was to find him, and convince him to come back to the mansion where the X-men could protect him from whatever was after him.

I'd headed straight for Chicago. Storm sent me a sketch of him, and all the information she had. Which wasn't much; his name, Michael Nowlan, and that he frequented a particular park. It was up to me to find him. And convince him that he needed our protection. A relatively simple mission.

Except that it was now complicated by the appearance of Ed. And I was torn; find the mutant, or get vengeance. My focus was now shifted, and I sat here, in the bar, next to the man who had helped kill my mother, my aunt, and tried to kill me. Didn't I deserve justice? Didn't I get to punish those who made me hurt, all those years ago? Who changed my life?

If Quinn was in my position, there would be no doubt in his mind. But then, if Quinn was in my position, his other option wouldn't be to try and _save_ a mutant who was going to die.

I cleared my throat, "Not yet."

"You need to do it _soon_," she stressed, and I could hear the anxiety in her voice.

I hunched over, lowering my voice so it wouldn't travel to Ed. "I'm working on it. Trust me."

The words tasted bitter in my mouth.

Technically, I was working on it. The park was where I was on my way to, when I'd seen Ed, and been diverted. This was my only chance. I'd given up finding him and the dark-skinned woman when I was fifteen, and now here he was. And he could lead me to the woman. I could pry the information out of him. I could make them sorry they'd ever messed with my family. I could show them how long I could hold onto a vendetta for.

This was my personal crusade, and mine alone. I wanted revenge. I wanted vengeance. It was something I had to do, and I couldn't explain it to Storm.

I couldn't do anything to jeopardize this opportunity. If I scared him off, I might not ever see him again. I had to play it just right. Right when I was getting into the swing of things, life threw me a curve ball, and I had to adapt real quick.

"If you can't find him by the end of the week, then come back. We need you here more," She said, resigned. There was no point in me wasting time searching for a man I may never find. It was almost impossible in the first place. There was a time when you drew a line in the sand, and said enough was enough. Storm had just set that line to be the end of the week.

"Got it," I said, straightening up. From the corner of my eye, I could see Ed watching me. "I'll talk to you later."

I hung up, dropping my phone into my bag, and putting it back on the floor again. I didn't make eye contact with Ed again, and he didn't ask to get me another drink.

I took another sip, waiting for him to leave so I could tail him. I drank slowly, and I could see the bartender getting grumpier and grumpier with me because I was taking so long.

Ed got up, lifting his bulk off the bar stool. He nodded at Ian, "Places to go."

Ian nodded back.

Here was my chance I'd been waiting for.

_Not yet. Not yet. Not yet._

Ed decided to order another drink, and I watched him.

I glanced at Ian. He was watching me carefully, suspiciously, in the way I was watching Ed. Maybe he was smarter than I first thought. And he'd certainly know something was up if I got up and left straight after the man I came into the bar after as well. But I couldn't just let Ed walk out of here. I'd probably never see him again. And I had already waited so long.

I pulled my handbag onto my lap, and rummaged around for what I was searching for. I drained the last of my drink, and ordered another from Ian, pulling out my wallet like that was what I'd been searching for. At the same time, I slipped the small black rectangle, about the size of my thumb nail, into the pocket of my black jeans.

I dropped my bag back down to the ground, and asked Ian where the bathroom was. He gestured with his head, grunting, and I stood up, timing it so I stood up just as Ed did, having finished his final drink. I took a couple steps in the direction of the bathrooms, which I'd have to pass Ed to get to.

Lightly, my fingers trailed over the broad bulk of Ed's shoulders, and he turned around to grin at me. I stepped up closer to his body, and his grin became triumphant.

"It's too bad that you have to go," I looked up at him coquettishly.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, playing up the silent hero act. "The bureau needs me."

I widened my eyes like this impressed me, and when I was sure I had his attention, my hand subtly went to my pocket and pulled the little tracker out. I had it in case I found Michael Nowlan, but he gave me the slip. Now, it was so Ed couldn't get away from me. "You're in the FBI? That's so impressive."

I nearly gagged at his next words, but managed to drop the small tracker into his pants pocket. "I don't do it to be impressive. I do it for my country."

_Oh, lord._ Kill me now.

No, kill _him_ now. I'd be doing women everywhere a favour. They'd be thanking me.

"Well," I said slowly, sadly, "I wouldn't want little ol' me to come in between that." I sighed dramatically, "Maybe… I'll be seeing _you_ soon."

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would I say that? Did I want him to remember me? Did I want him to disappear off the face of the earth? How could I be so stupid?

But the words just slipped out. They were what he'd said to me, and I'd felt a surge of hate towards him again, a desire to scare him like he scared me all those years ago. And those words, his warning, were what just came out.

I watched him carefully for any signs of recognition. For him to suddenly realize who I was, and attack me.

He just grinned and winked again, "Maybe you will."

It only made me hate him more, that he didn't even recognize his own threat. That he didn't remember terrorizing me, a small girl, right after he killed my mother. I turned my head away shyly, like my coy words had been outlandish for me, and his returning interest was surprising, humbling, and exciting.

But really, it was to hide my murderous glare.

I smiled at him one last time and continued to the bathroom, making sure to sigh sadly. I picked up my pace the last couple steps to the women's toilets before he could ask me for my number, closing and locking the door. It was all I could do, not to go back out and introduce him to my fist. I took in a deep breath. I needed to calm down. I needed a moment to regain my composure and my control.

At the very least, Quinn taught me that. The importance of control and keeping a clear head. The moment I let my emotions take over and rule my actions, was the moment I lost. I couldn't afford to lose. I knew that.

I let my breath out in a long-drawn sigh, and began pacing. The small cubicle was gritty and gross. Worse than the bar, and I figured it probably had never been cleaned. Even if I needed to use the toilet, I wouldn't. Not here. The minutes trickled by. And then knocking came.

"Occupied," I called out, hoping it wasn't Ed sticking around to get my number.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

I frowned, "Occupied!"

_Knock. Knock. Knock._ Three slow, serious raps on the door.

I froze, my lips parting slightly, my mind racing.

_Angels are watching over you._

**Dun dun dun.**

**So, what did you think?**

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**And thanks to those who reviewed, favourited and alerted!**

**Review-replies:**

**Guest: **Thanks! I'm glad you thought it was cool! Thanks for being my first reviewer! :D

**Person: **Thanks so much for reviewing! This chapter probably answered that question, but it takes place after The Last Stand and after The Wolverine. I'm stoked you seem to want to read more! Thanks :D


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